


Buried, not Necessarily Six Feet Under

by underscoredom



Series: Stranger Things Have Happened [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Childhood Memories, Family, Loki as a mother, movie!verse, no spoilers for the movie though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underscoredom/pseuds/underscoredom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four significant things Phil Coulson used to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buried, not Necessarily Six Feet Under

Phil Coulson is very young and quite small, even for mortals. To him, the world consists of a slight coolness coming from the chest he is tucked against and the finger that his tinnier, more delicate fingers curl around, as it tickles him under his chin.

 

He closes his eyes against the sun shining on his face, satisfied with what he has.

 

*

 

The first word he learns is mother, although it will take him five months to pronounce it correctly and even then, another five to get the habit of mispronouncing it out of his system. For now, he will screech, "Ma! Ma!" at everything: the tree branches dancing outside his room, casting looming shadows in his room at night. The birds flying over the trees, when he is outside. The symmetric line of herbs and spices that line along a cupboard in their kitchen. The television turned on to some documentary he doesn't understand, but bathes him in a soft glow of blue light.

 

"Ma," he will say, thumping a loosely curled fist against the table, the floor or whichever body part of his mother he is closest to.

 

"Maaaaaaa!" he will wail in the middle of the night, causing his mother to rush in his room, pick him up and circle the room, all the while rocking him back to sleep. There will be something familiar with how he is slotted in his mother's arms, tucked against his chest. His mother’s murmurs will soothe him and he will find himself tugging the long strands of his mother’s hair. His screech will be lowered to an almost quiet whimper and his mother will bring him back to his bedroom, where they will share the bed. Phil will be forted between his mother's curled body and his arm.

 

"Ma!" cried out in delight when his mother creates bubbles out of nowhere, his hands reaching out to burst them. In surprise when the bubbles turn into butterflies and fly out the open window.

 

"Ma!" over and over as his swing is pushed. He throws his head back and watches his mother grow bigger and then smaller, calling out with one outstretched hand whenever he gets closer.

 

*

 

He remembers this day for two reasons.

 

One: Gabby Scott's father had been teaching them how to fold paper into different animals and objects for most part of the morning. Who knew you could turn a boat into a hat? He and Gabby had a lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which they had cut into shapes (mostly squares minus the crusts). After that, they had made hats and painted them; his was a bright, bright blue with yellow splotches and Gabby had just mixed colors until it was a murky sort of green. They found branches and had pretended to be pirates, looting and losing legs and teaching parrots how to say "Aaaaar dar she blows!" and walking off planks all the way until his home, where they are fighting off a mutiny when

 

Two: an old man appears.

 

Phil describes him as old, the way anyone who isn't a child is old. Objectively, he is not so old, although his salt and pepper hair and the bags under his eyes do add age. The man walks up to them but they don't notice him until his presence casts a shadow over them.

 

They look up and the man looks back at them. The man opens his mouth. Closes it. Coughs.

 

"Do either of you live here?" he finally asks.

 

"Why?" Phil throws as a reply, tilting his chin up, causing his hat to slide down. He scowls and pushes it back.

 

The man-- his expression changes. Phil remembers that the man looked the same way Annie Jacobs had when Johnny Ford had told her that her dad was playing Santa all along and she tried to act like it meant nothing, even though her eyes had gone big and round and glassy and her lips may have quivered.

 

This man’s lips don’t quiver though.

 

"Is your mother home?" the man tries again. Phil and Gabby share a look; Phil shrugs.

 

"Tell her I need to see her," is all the man says. He stretches out his hand, as though to pat Phil on the head, but Phil steps back. The man quickly snatches his hand back and frowns. He nods at them, turns around and walks away.

 

"Since when d'you have a girl as a mom?" Andrew asks when the man has turned around the corner. Phil shrugs and suddenly feels tired. He doesn't feel like being a pirate anymore.

 

*

 

"Interesting day?"

 

Phil grimaces and forgets his plan of quietly creeping upstairs. Even with his back turned to him, of course his mother can sense him, the moment he arrives at home. (Phil isn't stupid; he knows it's not mother intuition.) Instead, he shuffles to the kitchen, where his mother is seated on the kitchen table, looking through his old books, while something in the pot simmers. The moment Phil enters, his mother's eyes flick up to look at him.

 

His mother's lips thin to a stern line. His eyes narrow. Phil feels the need to hide the bruise forming on his jaw with his hands. It isn't big. It didn't even come from Marcus Spencer; at least, not directly. He got that when he had been pushed and he fell.

 

"Yeah, kinda," Phil answers instead, mentally shaking the fear of off him. Still, he keeps his hands clasped behind him.

 

"Come here," his mother says and he follows, standing right beside him. His mother snaps his fingers. The stove turns itself off and a pack of frozen peas, that he was sure had been in the freezer, materializes in his mother's hands. Gently, but firmly, he cups Phil's cheek, the side that had not been injured. Gently, but firmly, he presses the pack of peas to his cheek. Phil winces but sighs, grateful, curling his fingers over his mother's.

 

"I had received a phone call from your school momentarily before your return," his mother begins. Phil eyes shift to the wooden floors. He wasn't ashamed of what he had done but he hadn't intended for his mother to find out. Ever.

 

"Look at me, Phil." Phil looks up; he is not ashamed of what he'd done but it was rare for him to be on the receiving end of that clipped tone. He makes himself stand up straighter. "They claimed that you had gotten yourself in a fist fight. What happened?" When Phil sighs, his mother had tightened his grip on him.

 

"Marcus Spencer called you a freak. He kept saying you can't be my mother because you're a man. I didn't hit him," Phil promises. That doesn't mean I won't push back, he adds silently. Phil is pretty sure his mother knows what he's thinking because he shakes his head at Phil when he lets go of him.

 

"It isn't worth the trouble," his mother says.

 

"Why not?" Phil argues. "Mother, if I let him off, he's going to keep thinking it's okay to say sh— crap like that."

 

"Some battles can be fought without having to result in physical injuries," his mother chided.

 

"He's not going to stop unless someone shuts him up," Phil cuts in. His mother pauses with what he had been planning on saying. Possibly rebuke Phil for interrupting. Tell him how impulsive his plan is. Phil runs different scenarios in his head but what his mother says isn't even in the back of his head.

 

"I can't help but imagine that you would get along with my brother." The words are murmured softly. Phil blinks, his conviction wavering. What? He knows enough about his mother's family to know that he has an uncle, but the topic of their family hasn't been brought up for quite some time.

 

"Uh, really?" Phil can't tell if it's a compliment or not. His mother shakes his head, as though ridding himself of a stray thought. He stands to check on what had been simmering.

 

"Set the table. Tomorrow, come home early. If you are going to insist on tackling Mr. Spencer, I'll have to teach you how to defend yourself."

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, christ :'D Thanks, guys, for your encouraging words and kudos! For those who are interested in reading about Peggy being Phil's mother, I got the inspiration from [ this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/329235), which is possibly one of the most beautiful fics I've read.
> 
> If anyone ever wants to talk about this verse, my tumblr is endwithahypen, and will always be open to you.


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